


You be hanged, Christopher Marlowe!

by Astray



Category: 16th & 17th Century CE RPF, Marlowe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Shakespeare RPF
Genre: Gen, Henslowe baby-sit, Marlowe is trolling - again, Printers are evil, Shakespeare is a brat, Tavern, The author is a nerd, implied drunkenness, mention of plays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shakespeare is a victim. Idiotic printers messed up with his in-quartos yet again. And the only one who would listen, that is, Marlowe, seems to believe that making fun of him is the best way to go. Qui bene amat bene castigat, but that was too much!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You be hanged, Christopher Marlowe!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ambrose](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ambrose).



> This comes from a discussion with a friend who ranted -rightfully so- about the mixing of certain letters in 'Hamlet', and how confusing it was.

Staring at the quarto in front of him, he had to groan. His head violently collided with the tabletop, just as two pints were set in front of him. Make that three, as someone else arrived.

“What now, Mister Usurer.” That voice… why him? Well, he vaguely recalled having asked the man to meet him at the tavern but to be fair, he half-expected him not to come anyway.

“Chris, do shut up please and let me wallow in self-pity for a while.” Silence. That felt actually good, despite the buzz of the tavern. “That’s much better, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I won’t let you of the hook until you tell me what’s so upsetting that you would rather face a wooden plank than have a pint of ale.” He felt his ‘colleague’ plop on the bench next to him, and heard the characteristic thud of an elbow setting on the wood. Marlowe going for the ale, probably. Not that he would ever grace the man with an answer.

“I thought you got the quarto printed yesterday and was to retrieve it today.” Count on Marlowe to hit where it hurts. Damn him.

“Precisely, Sir.” Of all people, it had to be Henslowe. He was doomed. Utterly doomed. Of all godforsaken-

“William, stop swearing, that’s my prerogative.”

“Since when?”

For a moment, nothing was heard and Shakespeare knew that Marlowe was actually rolling his eyes. And perhaps stare at him in his ‘really-you-have-to-ask-stupid-question-do-you-?’-way. “Since I said so. Seriously, you have wallowed long enough. I ask you again, what happened?”

“Not the same question.”

An exasperated sigh was all the only warning he got before a hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head backward, forcing him to sit properly on his bench.

“I swear it, if you don’t give me one reason – and it better be good – as to why you are acting like a brat, I’m walking out of here and the next time you are commissioned - stuck on said commission, I’ll stay out of it.” There was something very odd about Marlowe’s tone: usually he was not beyond yelling when angered, and Shakespeare was well-aware he was not the most patient man. The mere fact that his voice got so low sounded so much like a threat that he had to swallow twice before he found his words.

With a sigh, he turned to look at his colleaguerivalsomething and willed himself to keep calm. There was no need for him to rant, as it would only aggravate Marlowe. Not a very wise move, considering his frown. “Maybe you can explain to me why printers keep confusing the Us, the Vs and the Ws?” Alright, he knew the answer – of course he did. Though Marlowe was usually quite good at finding odd excuses and this time would be no exception.

“But of course! This is but a very clever ploy to get to you… maybe to test the limits of your sanity? Or your ability to withstand stupidity – though considering your last play I do believe that that this is quite impressive. Or-“ He was cut off by a sharp cuff at the back of his head. “What? You asked a question, if you don’t want the answer you should stop asking. Make up your mind.”

“You are aware that you are the most infuriating cur in that bloody city, I hope.” It came out as mumbling but enough time spent with William Shakespeare at a tavern taught Marlowe the basics of his drinking speech.

“I would not say cur, I do believe my parents would not like that. Bless them. But infuriating? I should hope so, I am trying very hard to be as infuriating as possible when in your company my dear fellow.”

“Christopher Marlowe, you be hanged!”

“After you.” He grinned at Shakespeare before downing the remaining half of his pint and signaling the tavern girl for another. “Honestly, you sound so offended, one would believe it happens only to you.”

William did not say that out loud but he really wanted to cry out of frustration. The situation was getting to him, Marlowe was getting on his nerves, it was getting late. Everyone was getting something. Except him. Oh, wait… he was getting something as well now. A headache. Joy!  
 “I am serious, Chris. Why? Why is it so complicated when it could be so simple? It’s not like people do not know that English requires Ws, right? And as far as I know, I placed the Vs and Us in their right place.”

Marlowe cast a brief glance at Henslowe who looked close enough to say something but not quite daring. Not that he had no idea – it was a common complaint amongst those working with William: however neat his ledgers, his handwriting was… well… what it was.

“With your handwriting, I daresay that doubt is permitted as only you would know what you wrote.” There, he said it. He was aggravating William – he knew that full well but it was way too amusing, seeing him go from mildly annoyed to a ranting mess. And indeed, the glare that was sent his way would have made anyone cower. Anyone who did not know that Shakespeare was about as good in a brawl as a dairy maid, that is. Not that he would ever tell him that. He might not be able to fight but Marlowe was within range and as far as he knew, Shakespeare could punch. Hard, if need be.

“Chris…”

“You admire me, adore me, worship me, love me? Marry me!” To be fair, he had no idea where this came from but he was glad he did because the look on Shakespeare’s face was priceless. Shame that he could not see it properly as his head went back to the table with a thunk. Laughing heartily, he placed a hand on his fellow’s shoulder and shook him slightly. “I was jesting.” _In case you hadn’t notice, you fool._

“You better be. How can you just… joke about that? It would not do you any good if the Puritans got on your case. Again.”

“What can they do, heh? Burn my plays? I have them all in that head of mine. Besides, do you really think I care what these ill-omened birds have in store for me?”

At this, William rose again, and smiled. It was small, yes, but it was still a smile. “You are too carefree, friend.”

“Carefree for the both of us. But you are the serious one. Now. About your problem… would you stop nagging?”

“I think I will.”

“Good.”

“But only because it would save me further embarrassment at your hands.”

This time it was Marlowe’s turn to choke on his beer. And he stared. Just. Stared. “You have any idea what you just said?” His grammar did not come back as fast as his speech, it seems. Oh well.

“Unfortunately for you, I do.” With that, he finished his pint, and downed Marlowe’s, who had forgotten about it the moment he nearly died.

“Come on, it was a joke.”

“Precisely. You made a joke. Who are you and what did you do to William Shakespeare?” He was a bit worried, to be honest.

“Marlowe… I actually _do_ have a sense of humour.”

“Hum, and I just saw a flying pig. You _never_ joke, William! This is… frightening… terrifying!”

The foul quarto lay forgotten on the table as both playwrights were too occupied bickering about sense of humour, lewd innuendos and what it could do to a play. And leaving Henslowe to just sit here and shake his head. And pay for the ale that kept coming. Children… grown men but children nonetheless. This was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> About the problem of letters in print and in-quarto.  
> In-quarto were cheap prints of the plays, not always complete, and destined to the play-goers, as well as to the actors. Usually, no great care was attached to their production. In case of Shakespeare, the first, 'neat', folio containing his works, was produced some years after his own death.  
> In printing, some letters did not exist - W, for one. It was 'made' with two 'V'. The number of letter for the casse depended on the language, but it happened that one would run out of U and therefore, had to resort to V. (Though from what I read, even in handwriting the difference was not always so evident.)  
> The play from the quarto may be 'The Taming of the Shrew', as it came out on 1593 - so Marlowe was still alive back then. And the play Marlowe is mentioning might be 'Titus Andronicus'.  
> Arguably, this was NOT such a great play, andhas nothing on the later tragedies. Though I reckon Marlowe might appreciate the brutality of it.


End file.
